


From the Grave

by thenoodlesaresalty



Series: Out in the Dust [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Alcohol, Anarchy, Animal Death, Blood and Injury, Breaking Up & Making Up, Canon Gay Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence, Cowboys & Cowgirls, Death, Desert, Drug Use, Gay Male Character, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Medical Procedures, Mutual Pining, Near Death Experiences, Older Characters, Relationship(s), Rescue Missions, Revenge, Slavery, Smoking, Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:40:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29585283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenoodlesaresalty/pseuds/thenoodlesaresalty
Series: Out in the Dust [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2173596
Kudos: 1





	1. Wrong Delivery

**June 28, 2281**

The world is swirling. He blinks his eyes a few times, but that doesn’t seem to help. Soft mumbling comes from in front of him, and they keep talking as if he were never there. When he finally regains his vision, he notices the rope tied around his hands. Looking around frantically, he figures he’s in a cemetery. His breathing increases as the graves seemingly rise above him and trap him there.

“Well, look who finally woke up,” a raspy voice calls out. He glances up to see three blurry figures. One appears to be holding a shovel, while the other two are arguing.

“Will you get on with it?” the other demands, crossing his arms and grunting. “You got what you were after, so pay up.”

Putting out a cigarette, the one wearing a tacky checkered suit scoffs, placing his finger up to the demanding one. “Maybe Khans kill people without looking them in the face, but I ain't a fink, dig?” The demanding one cocks his eyebrow and faces the landscape next to them. The checkered one pulls out a small platinum disk from his coat, smirking small and low. “You've made your last delivery kid. Sorry you got twisted up in this scene,” He puts it back, holding his hand there for a bit. Slowly, he pulls out a small pistol. The terrified courier shutters, feeling like his heart might stop right there. “From where you're kneeling it must seem like an 18-carat run of bad luck. Truth is...” He points the gun right at the courier’s head, ignoring his endless shaking and pleading.

“Oh, god, please no!”

“The game was rigged from the start,” And with that, the shot rings out. The courier falls into the grave. But before they can bury him, metal clashes and shots rain onto them, forcing them to run away. A robot appears in front of the courier, whose head is bleeding profusely. Right before he passes out, the robot scoops him out of his grave, carrying him down the hill and towards a house. His vision blacks out, leaving him alone with his thoughts.


	2. Ain't that a Kick in the Head

**July 2, 2281**

His eyes creep open, the light nearly blinding him. He tries to sit up, but another figure slowly helps him.

“Woah now, not too fast,” The courier’s head spins horribly, and the light certainly isn’t helping. The doctor places a warm pack on his forehead, holding the courier’s back of the head. “Easy does it, don’t wanna rescramble your brain,” Adjusting the IV, he checks the courier’s vitals. “100/65… hm, that’s not too great,” He scribbles some notes down. Placing a stethoscope on his back, the doctor listens to his breathing. “Fifteen breaths per minute,” The courier can finally see now and turns his head to the doctor at the desk. The courier takes a few deep breaths and coughs a little. “Feeling better?” He nods. “Good, good. You’ve been out for a couple days now. Just relax, we don’t want your vitals to burst,” The courier chuckles slightly under his breath. “Let’s see what the damage is, can you tell me your name?”

The courier takes a few minutes. He glances around and shuts his eyes tight. “Colton… C-colton Melendez.”

“Well, sounds like a nice ol’ name,” He writes a few more notes. “I’m Doc Mitchell, welcome to Goodsprings,” he says, still writing. “Now, I hope you don't mind, but I had to go rooting around there in your noggin to pull all the bits of lead out,” He drops the pencil onto the clipboard, turning to face Colton. “What else can you tell me?”

“I…” He rubs his forehead, feeling it ache like all hell. “I’m- I’m a doctor. I lived in the NCR, I’m… late thirties, and I… uh, worked as the town doctor. Shit, I don’t remember nothin-” Feeling his face, he panics a little inside. “My glasses, where are my glasses?!”

Doc Mitchell reaches over and pulls out a pair of glasses. He hands it to Colton, making sure not to touch the lenses. “Here we go. Sorry, but we couldn’t salvage your original pair. I hope this’ll be good enough. Okay. No sense keeping you in bed anymore. Let's see if we can get you on your feet,” Supporting Colton, Doc Mitchell helps him out of bed, making sure he doesn’t stumble over. He slowly moves away, letting Colton stand on his own, which he does easily. “Good, why don’t you head down to the end of the room?” Colton, feeling a little bit of his legs, stumbles over to the machine on the wall. He approaches the machine, holding on tight to the edges of it. “Why don’t you take a look at the ol’ vigor tester? See if everything’s alright,” A small joystick sits in the middle. Colton watches the numbers as he fiddles with it.

After a few minutes, he steps back a little, allowing Doc Mitchell to see the points. “Well, would ya look at that,” He laughs to himself, patting his chest as he coughs. “I think you’re a pretty trustworthy doctor with smarts like that!” Colton continues to hold on tightly to the machine. Doc Mitchell, sighing and coughing, walks over and helps him into the next room. After a few steps, Colton slowly moves away from the doctor, making his way to the couch. “Just one more thing before I send you off,” The doctor takes a seat across from Colton, holding a notepad with chicken scratch for writing. “Just want to get a sense of your psyche, that’s all. Don’t think getting shot in the head will turn ya into a barbarian if you weren’t already one,” He flips the page, briefly reading what he wrote before turning his attention back to the courier. “All right. I'm going to say a word. I want you to say the first thing that comes to mind. Ready?” Colton nods. “Dog.”

“Feed,” he replies with a slight stutter.

“House.”

“Shelter.”

“Night.”

Colton takes a little time to process. “Sleep.”

He raises his eyebrows and scribbles down some notes. “Ok, bandit.”

“Reasonable?” he drags out.

“Light.”

“Torch.”

“Finally, mother.”

Colton can feel his head grow heavier. With a shaky voice, he answers, “Caretaker,” Doc Mitchell nods his head and quietly scribbles some more. He turns the page again.

“Okay. Now I've got a few statements. I want you to tell me how much they sound like something you'd say,” Colton, a little confused, nods his head slowly. “Conflict just ain't in my nature.”

“Yeah, that sounds like me.”

“I ain't given to relying on others for support.”

He pushes his glasses up a little. “I s’pose so.”

“I'm always fixin to be the center of attention,” Narrowing his eyes, Colton shakes his head rapidly. “Alright. I'm slow to embrace new ideas,” He wiggles a flat hand around a little while cocking an eyebrow. “I charge in to deal with my problems head-on.”

Giving a hearty laugh, he shakes his head. “Ah, hell, life would be a hella of a lot easier like that.”

Doc Mitchell chuckles too, flipping the notepad. Reaching over, he pulls out a stack of ink splats. He places one on the music stand beside him. “Almost done here. What do you say you have a look at this? Tell me what you see.”

Colton stares deep and hard at the picture. The way the ink just trickles down from the center sends shivers down his spine. “Kinda looks like an oozing wound, like something you’d see from a laceration.”

He takes it down and replaces it. “What about this one?”

“Hmmm,” He leans forward, holding his glasses by the frame. The image causes him to blush heavily with its strange, phallic appearance. “I’m- I’m too embarrassed to say what it is.”

Doc Mitchell simply closes his eyes and sighs, replacing the image again. “And this?”

“Oh, easy; two bears high fiving!”

“That… wasn’t the answer I was expecting, but I’ll take it,” Wiping off his pants, he stands up and walks to the door, motioning for Colton to follow. “That’s all we got. You seem right as rain right now, so no need to keep you cooped up,” The two approach the door at the end of the long, dim hallway. Doc Mitchell stops before the door, turning to face Colton. “If you’re gonna head out, you better take these,” Taking a few items from a shelf, he hands them to the courier, helping him adjust and equip the small device. “It’s a Pip-boy, should help you out there.”

Colton stares at the vault jumpsuit, wincing a bit. “Doc, not to be rude or nothin’, but I- I don’t think this’ll fit,” He holds it up to his large body, the suit not even close to looking like it’ll fit. 

“Ah, hold on,” He rushes over to another room, shuffling around a bit. When he’s done, he returns with a large shirt, some pants, a small satchel, and a pair of worn-down boots. Colton carefully puts them on, patting his stomach happily. His smile nearly illuminates the walls around him. “Before you leave town, you should head over to the saloon and talk with Sunny Smiles. She can help you learn to fend for yourself in the desert,” He gives a few pats on the back and turns around back to his office. But before Colton leaves, Doc Mitchell calls out, “Oh, and try not to get killed again.”

The outside world is blinding and hot. It’s overwhelming for the courier, and he takes a few minutes before descending down the hill. A tumbleweed bounces passes him, and he smiles at the familiarity. Goodsprings ain’t too big, but not too small either. A few farmhouses line the perimeter, with the stores and saloon in the center. Colton stumbles around, looking like a drunkard just stepping out from the bar after several months. Luckily for him, no one was around and about to witness him learning to walk again. Every third step nearly leads to him falling to the ground, but every fourth step makes him a little more balanced.

Finally, after seemingly ages of being a newborn deer, Colton steps foot into the saloon. As soon as he places his foot on the floorboards, a dog pounces on him, barking and sniffing. Colton, absolutely delighted and laughing, tries to pet her while she licks his glasses. A woman runs up and pulls the dog down off of him. “Cheyenne! Down!” She struggles to carry the dog away from him, placing her on the ground beside her. “Sorry about that,” she says, breathing a bit heavily. “You’re the guy shot in the head, yeah? The doc told me you would need some help with ya shooting.”

“Well,” He pushes up his glasses. “I remember being a damn good shot back home.”

“Being out cold for a couple of days can make all of that disappear. The doc just wants to know if it’s too severe,” Colton quickly raises his eyebrows and nods. “C’mon, meet me out back, then we’ll get started,” She heads off to the other room, Cheyenne panting loud and proud as she trots. Colton, still wiping off the dog drool, follows as well.

Outside the saloon, a fence holds a few bottles on top of it. Sunny stops a few feet away from them. When Colton meets her, she shoves a rifle and a few pieces of ammo at his torso, which he awkwardly grabs. “See those bottles right there? Just aim down the sights and hit ‘em.”

Pushing his glasses to the top of his head, Colton narrows his eyes and looks down the sights of his gun. Carefully, he slowly pulls the trigger, hitting the bottle almost dead on. He repeats the process two other times. Sunny whistles. “See? Told ya,” he says with a smile.

“Guess doc’ll be pleased. Your brain ain’t too messed up,” She places a small bag of caps in his hands. “Here, you might need this for the road. Unless you plan on spending it all at the saloon.”

“Eh,” Colton places it in his small satchel. “Not too much of a drinker, but I appreciate it, Sunny,” The two head back into the saloon.

As they make small talk, Colton overhears an argument. A man decked out with explosives points a finger in the bartender’s face.

She pushes his hand away from her, scowling so hard it might freeze there. “I ain’t know where Ringo went, Cobb. If you want cheap booze, I have  _ that _ , otherwise? Get the hell out,” The man scoffs, continuing to argue. Colton, trying his hardest to pay attention, finds his mind fixated on the sparking radio behind the counter. He slips away from the scene to take a look. Opening the casing, he navigates the wires, untangling and reconnecting them. During his trials and errors, the woman stands behind him. “Can I help you, sir?”

Colton jumps back. “Ah! S-sorry! I- uh um- was trying to fix-fix your radio!” One final wire, and the radio starts playing a smooth stream of music.

“Well, I’ll be… got quite the repairing hand, huh?” He shrugs and laughs.

Wiping his hands off, he walks back around the counter. He looks at the door. “What was all that fightin’ about? Sounded pretty serious.”

“Ugh,” She tosses a handkerchief to the side, furrowing her eyebrows and huffing. “Just some Powder Ganger looking for the person he’d meant to kill weeks ago,” Groaning, she grabs a drink and passes it to a prospector before he even asks for it.

Colton, looking around, raises his hand a bit. “I could try to help, ma’am.”

“Oh, no, don’t worry about it. You just woke up, this ain’t your fight.”

“Well, if a man’s gonna be murdered if I don’t help, then I’ll risk brain damage.”

Laughing, she sighs. “If only it was just the man. Alright, Ringo’s up the hill in the gas station, near Doc’s house,” She goes back to cleaning the counter.

“Thanks… er-”

“Trudy.”

“Thanks, Trudy, I’ll see what I can do,” He rounds the corner before being stopped by Sunny.

“Alright, I’m in.”

“What?” He sharply turns around, pushing up his glasses. “How’d you-”

“I was already determined to protect the town the second that Cobb bastard stepped foot. You might have to try convincing the others though, and they’re tough nuts to crack.”

“I’ll… keep that in mind, Sunny,” He pushes the door open, making his way down the stairs before noticing an older man sitting on the bench near the door. He sees Colton and tips his hat. 

“Howdy, you’re that courier that just woke up, right?” Colton nods. “Name’s Easy Pete, Goodsprings’ dynamite expert.”

Colton’s eyes shimmer. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to have some spares? We might need them if the Powder Gangers attack.”

Sighing, he sits back in his seat. “Sorry, son, but I can’t just give away dynamite.”

Colton, stunned a bit, cocks an eyebrow. “But- but what if they come and attack the town??”

“Son, dynamite’s too dangerous to just use whenever you want. I’ll help in the fight, but there won’t be any dynamite.”

“Understandable, I s’pose. I’ll see ya around,” He marches up the sand covered hill, trying desperately to not look at the sun. A broken-down gas station greets him. It’s covered in dry vines and faded paint, which is common for most Pre-War structures. He slightly pushes the door open. Suddenly, a bullet flies by him and strikes the wall. “Goddamn! The hell’s wrong with ya?!” he yells, furrowing his eyebrows and glaring at the figure who shot. 

“Sorry, I thought you were Cobb,” Ringo states, holstering his gun. “Did Trudy send ya?” Colton nods. “Good, so you’re all caught up.”

“Well, actually-”

“Doesn’t matter. Those explosive loving freaks are gonna be here any second now, we have to get everyone prepared,” He walks over to the other side of the gas station. “Who else is joining in?”

Colton follows from afar, adjusting the strap of his satchel. “Um, Sunny is. Easy Pete said- said he will as well, but-”

“Any dynamite?”

“Nuh-uh,” Pushing up his glasses, he gently kicks an empty sarsaparilla bottle away. “Who else should I ask?”

Ringo sighs, throwing his goggles onto the counter. “Well, we got Chet down in the general store. Then we got the Doc up the hill next door.”

“I can ask Chet, you can ask Doc Mitchell,” Ringo stares at him with narrow, bug eyes. “You know, split up the work, so we don’t end up blown to a million pieces?” he explains with a sarcastic tone in his voice. “Look, I’ll head on down and give a signal once I see the Powder Gangers. You go ask the doc about medical supplies.”

“What’ll you bring to the table…” He maneuvers his hands in a circular motion.

“Colton. I was a doctor back in the NCR, don’t worry,” He heads to the door, shortly stopping to assure, “I got this under control.”

Nearly falling down the hill, Colton rushes to the general store, looking towards the entrance of the town; only tumbleweeds rested there. Stumbling, he enters the store, nearly tripping over the strewn-about merchandise. Chet, the owner of the store, leans over the counter, counting the amount of bottle caps that lay on top. He spots Colton from his peripheral vision and stuffs the caps into the cash register. “Ah, you’re the guy who got shot in the head! Looks like the doc did a good job patching you up!” He walks around the corner, taking off his gloves and tossing them behind him. “You looking for gun mods? Armor? Some  _ magazines  _ with the most gorgeous women this side of Colorado?”

Colton stares, his face slightly scrunching up. “Actually,” He pushes his glasses up. “I’m here to ask for your help in the fight-”

“Hey, hey, hey, I didn’t vote to take on the Powder Gangers.”

“Well, can you provide some supplies?”

“Sure, I can,” Before Colton can reply, Chet holds out his hand. “for a thousand caps.”

Colton’s eyes shoot open, his mouth slightly agape. “A  _ thousand _ ?!” he yells. Chet nods, a punchable smirk on his face. “Chet,  _ please _ , the town needs you.”

“You think armor is cheap? A thousand caps.”

Colton, furrowing his eyebrows and staring him down, gets closer. Chet simply stares back. After their little staring contest, Colton sighs, making his way to the door. “Fine, let them take over the town, then. I'm sure your business will be  _ much  _ better off with them in charge.”

The door slightly opens, and Chet yells, “Wait!” Colton turns around, a small smile on his face. “You made your point. I can provide people with some leather armor and extra ammo,” Nodding, Colton smirks and exits. Chet slouches over and huffs. “Better be worth it.”

Outside, Colton looks to the hill, Ringo standing with Doc Mitchell in tow. Colton looks out to the dunes and sand before the town. A few figures approach from the clouds. The other townspeople step out from their homes and businesses, gathering weapons and armor from Chet quickly. Colton, unholstering his rifle, walks to the front of town. The Powder Gangers stand tall and proud. Their leader, Joe Cobb, snarls before spitting on the ground. There’s absolute silence. Then, in an instant, a stick of dynamite is thrown into the air. Colton attempts to shoot at it, but misses several times. He ducks away, almost breaking his glasses. The rest of the town runs towards the Powder Gangers, firing their rifles and pistols. Powder Gangers go down in an instant, one after the other. Colton hides behind a large crate, peeking out occasionally to take shots at them.

The dust settles, and all that’s left are the bodies of Powder Gangers. The town members gather in front of the saloon, cheering and laughing. Doc Mitchell makes his rounds to each settler, checking for any injuries. Colton, sighing in relief, holsters his rifle, making his way to Ringo. Ringo stands over the corpse of Joe Cobb, kicking dust into its vacant eyes. “Take that, you miserable bastard,” Turning, he faces Colton with a smile. “Thanks again for your help, stranger. If there’s any way to repay you, just say the word.”

“Actually, there is one thing,” Colton rubs his hand over the sutures on his forehead. “There were these guys that attacked me. I can’t recall the others, but one of them, he had a checkered suit. Would you know anything about it?”

“A checkered suit? Hm,” He faces the winding road, pointing towards a distant town. “Sounds like a New Vegas type. Haven’t been there much, but I bet someone in Primm knows. Just follow that road, should be right about there.”

“Thanks, Ringo. Say,” He pushes his glasses up. “What’re you gonna do now? Ain’t gotta hide no more.”

“Dunno. Probably head back to the Crimson Caravans, they’re not gonna be happy about what happened, but hey, what can you do?” He places his goggles over his eyes, keeping a tight hold on his rifle strap. “I’ll see you around, Colton,” He walks back to the saloon, thanking Trudy for her help, and he disappears into the clouds of dust and sand. Colton, looking towards the road, takes his first steps out of Goodsprings, his grip on his rifle tighter than ever.


	3. They Went That-a-Way

**July 2, 2281**

After a few miles of walking, Colton starts to feel like his mouth might turn into its own desert. He reaches for some water in his satchel, but he hears a noise. It sounds like a snarling animal but more sinister. Before he can turn to see, a giant gecko jumps out from behind a rock, hissing and roaring while it tries to bite him. Colton, shoving the gecko off, struggles to get up and run away. More geckoes chase him, but he refuses to shoot. One bites him in the arm, causing him to shout in agonizing pain. He takes the butt of his gun and jams it into the gecko’s skull, killing it instantly. The others snarl and run off, leaving behind a trail of dust. Colton, breathing heavily, looks to the bleeding corpse. He feels his throat grow tight, and he drags it behind some rocks. “I’m sorry,” is the only thing he says to the gecko, running back towards the road. 

He begins to slug to the town, feeling like he’ll pass out right there and be left to the buzzards. His satchel is just full of empty bottles. Luckily for him, the town of Primm is right there, and he begins to rush towards it. But he’s stopped by a man in a bulky uniform. “Hold it! Primm’s off limits!”

Colton immediately recognizes the trooper as NCR, and he rolls his eyes at him. “Listen, pal, I need to head in.”

“Can’t just make an exception for you, sir. No one is allowed in or out.”

“What’s even going on in there? Can’t be too bad.”

“Convicts have taken over the casino and are holding the sheriff hostage.”

Colton blinks a few times, his eyes shifting from the trooper's weapons and armor. “ _ So _ ,” he drags out. “are ya gonna do something about it?”

Shaking his head, the trooper points up towards the bridge above them. “Can’t. Lieutenant said we’re not to fire.”

“Then why the hell are y’all here??”

“I’d advise you to not use that language.”

“ _ I’d advise you to not use that language _ ,” he mocks. “Look, son, I’m going in there. I got business to attend to.”

He shrugs, sighing. “Fine, but it’s your funeral,” Colton grumbles under his breath, stomping past him and up the hill. 

The town is desolate, not even tumbleweeds are passing through. Colton looks around, trying to find the convicts the trooper said were here.


	4. Come Fly with Me

WIP


	5. The Shadow of the Strip

WIP


	6. Ring-a-Ding-Ding

WIP


End file.
